


The Complicated Heart

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Badass June, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Pre-OT3, Pre-Slash, Shovel Talk, UST, tropefic, undercover in a gay bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: Kissing Neal Caffrey is a gateway drug. Or maybe it's kissing Peter Burke that's the drug. Whatever… Peter and Neal want and are tormented by thoughts of what they cannot have.





	The Complicated Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> Originally written and published on my Dreamwidth account in April, 2013, for both a Prompt Me Meme (for a prompt from Kanarek13). See end notes for prompt.

“Kiss me.”

Neal’s eyes pop at what he thinks he hears Peter say.

“Damn it, Neal, kiss me. Now.”

Neal doesn’t move. It’s not like he’s never thought about kissing Peter. In fact, he thinks about it all the time, it’s just that he never thought that it was ever likely to happen and he's frozen at even the possibility.

“Shit.” Peter grabs his tie, a vintage Sulka that deserved to be treated better, and hauls him close. Too close. Close enough to press his lips to Neal’s. Close enough to fill Neal’s universe with the taste and smell of Peter Burke.

At first, it’s a surprised and awkward mashing of lips, but since kissing Peter is something that Neal’s wanted for – well – forever, he needs to make the best of it. His lips go soft, he tilts his head, letting Peter take the lead. Neal has spent way too many nights thinking about just how good a kisser Peter must be. He’s gone over to the Burkes’ on many a Sunday morning, covertly examining Elizabeth for hints on how Peter kisses, if he’s aggressive – leaving beard burn and bruised lips, or sweet and respectful. It’s a toss-up. Some Sundays when Neal arrives, El’s mouth looks particularly puffy and ripe, like a bruised plum. Other Sundays, it’s Peter’s lips that seem a bit swollen.

So, maybe they take turns devouring each other? The thought turns him on immensely,

But that knowledge doesn’t help him now. His heart’s racing and he’s lifting his hands to cup Peter’s head, threading his fingers through the short hair, holding him close for all he’s worth. Peter kisses magnificently. And why should Neal be surprised?

It seems to go on without end, without reason. It’s perfect and Peter puts an arm around his waist, holding him so damn close Neal can feel the man’s heartbeat. Peter’s lips are firm, smooth, better than his dreams. He opens his mouth, and Peter takes immediate advantage, but his tongue isn’t a crude invader, but rather a sly and sneaky thief, stealing his sanity along with his breath, his balance and any speck of intelligence he might have once laid claim to.

Their connection is endless, whole galaxies are born and die and are reborn in this kiss. Neal doesn't care that the heat from Peter's body is about to immolate him; he thinks that this will be a good way to go.

But it does come to an end. Peter ends the kiss and Neal opens his eyes (when did he close them?).

"Davenport's gone now, you can let go." There's a touch of amusement in Peter's voice, Neal thinks. His stomach curls with shame.

Neal steps back, straightening his vest and shirt sleeves. He doesn't want to look at Peter, he doesn't want to see even the slightest hint of derision. Various member of the White Collar division had been trailing Arthur Davenport for three nights now, through every gay bar in Manhattan. He did business in these clubs and Peter had plans on approaching him, but not until the intel was complete.

Being spotted could ruin their plans. Hence Peter's impromptu kiss; two men necking at a bar in Chelsea wouldn't raise an eyebrow.

Neal only hopes that the lighting is dim enough to hide his flushed skin. He asks the bartender for a club soda - more for something to do than out of thirst.

The next two hours are pure torture, keeping an eye on the mark - the target - watching him flirt with the twinks and do business with men in sharp suits. All the while, Neal's exquisitely conscious of Peter, his body so close, the taste of him still on his lips.

Finally, Davenport leaves, and another team takes over the surveillance, trailing him wherever he goes. He and Peter can head back to the van and then home. 

Neal shoves his hands in his pockets and strolls out the door. He wonders if he can skip the van tonight and just hop on the subway. It's Friday night and Neal figures that by Monday, this will all be forgotten.

They pass the uptown entrance for the A train. "Do you mind if I head home?"

Peter looks at him, his face grave underneath the street lamps. "No - go ahead. I need to wrap this up with the team." Peter takes out his earpiece and disengages the mic in his collar.

Neal feels his skin burn all over again - he'd forgotten about the audio link. Diana and Clinton probably heard _everything_. He strives for nonchalance. "Enjoy your weekend, see you Monday." But Peter's already walked off. Neal stares at his retreating back for a moment - a moment too long - and heads down the stairs to the platform. He'll be home soon enough. 

He'll have to live with the memory of that kiss for eternity, because it's the only one he'll have.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It takes far too long to wrap up the night's activities. Diana and Clinton both offered to erase those few moments of the recording, but he wouldn't let them. There was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing was on the tape, other than his heavy breathing and Neal's almost inaudible moan.

No - there's nothing to be ashamed of at all.

Except the wood in his pants and the compulsion to get a copy of those ninety seconds so he could listen to it in private. Over and over again.

He isn't oblivious and he isn't stupid. Even a blind man could see the attraction between them. It's been building for almost as long as they've known each other. El's seen it, she's approved of it, but that means nothing, because acting on it is wrong for so many reasons.

But right now, Neal is hurting and embarrassed, and that hurts Peter. He knows he can't just leave things as they are and hope that in the interval between now and Monday morning, Neal will decide to just forget about it and they'll go back to being buddies.

For his part, Peter doesn't know if it's even possible. He now knows what Neal's lips taste like, he's felt the heat and strength and power of that deceptively slight frame, he's seen the desire in those eyes. 

They may be able to go back to being _just_ buddies, friends, working partners, but it will all be a lie. And lies like this fester, destroying from the inside.

He bids Diana and Clinton good night - they're waiting for the next shift to arrive - and doesn't head home. 

Riverside Drive's a quick trip uptown, particularly at this hour. He parks a half a block from June's place and he's not surprised to see the lights on in Neal's apartment. _Good._ He doesn't mind waking Neal and there'd be certain advantages to catching the man at a slight disadvantage, but Peter's honest with himself. Less-than-fully-clothed Neal would test his powers of self-restraint and whatever advantages he'd hope to have would be outweighed by the desire to put his mouth on the rest of Neal's skin.

Peter's had a key and the codes to June's mansion for a few years now. He was honored by the trust she placed in him and he's tried never to abuse it. But letting himself in at two AM seems a bit audacious and he stands at the front door, key in hand. He wonders if he should really wait until the morning - later in the morning since it's two AM. But that's the coward's way out - the excuse he could use and live with himself and let Saturday roll into Sunday and before he realized it, it's Monday and nothing's been said. Neal would turn up with that perfect smile and they'd pretend that the kiss never happened and in six months or so, when Neal's sentence is complete and the tracker comes off for good, Neal will take off for parts unknown and whatever chance they'd have had would be gone for good.

He unlocks the door, resets the alarm code and heads upstairs. Except that June's in the living room and she calls out his name as she turns on a small lamp. "Don't hurt him anymore than you already have. He doesn't deserve that."

Peter doesn't turn around, but he does reply. "I know that. I'm here to make things right."

"He's always loved you. He always will."

Peter closes his eyes. Hearing those words, and there's nothing casual about them, hurts. And yet, there's joy in that hurt. "I love him too, but it's complicated."

"Of course it is, Peter. Love is always complicated."

June turns off the light and Peter wonders how many nights she's sat in the dark, contemplating her loneliness.

Over the years, Peter's bounded up these stairs countless times. Times that he's been angry, times that he's been worried, and times where he's been filled with a feeling of anticipation that he hasn't wanted to name.

Tonight, though, he's filled with dread. His feet are leaden and by the time he gets to Neal's door, his heart's pounding. If he didn't know better, he'd worry that he was having a heart attack. 

Peter knocks and waits, he hears Neal moving around and he knocks again. This time with a little more emphasis.

The door finally opens and Neal's there, still dressed in the white shirt and dark grey vest. But his tie's gone and his hair's mussed. He doesn't seem happy to see him

"Can I come in?" Peter asks and waits, instead of just barging in like he usually does.

Neal doesn't give an inch. "It's a little late to chat, Peter."

"Please, Neal." He doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging.

Neal finally steps aside.

There's a bottle of vodka on the table and a glass with some dregs of liquid in it. Peter pours himself a double and downs it in a single swallow. Dutch courage.

"What do you want?"

He winces at the bitterness in that question. 

"I want to …" _What – make things right? Apologize?_

Neal, though, takes the initiative. "There's nothing to apologize for, Peter. You didn't want to blow our cover." He's more resigned than bitter, now.

He could leave it at that, he could accept the fiction, tell Neal to have a good weekend and that would be that. But it would still be a lie. He licks his lips and tells Neal the truth. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. I've wanted to do a lot more than that, but I couldn't."

"You're married, you're straight." All of the bitterness has leached out of Neal's tone.

"Orientation is irrelevant and Elizabeth approves. But for the past three and a half years, I've had total control over your freedom, your life…"

Neal's derisive snort makes Peter smile. He can hear the _"yeah, right"_ as clearly as if the words had been spoken.

"That's the truth - you might run, you might do your own thing, you might keep secrets that could get us all killed, but all it would take is a word from me to the Bureau of Prisons and the Marshals will be escorting you back to Sing-Sing. There is no way I could entertain any sort of relationship while I have that kind of power over you."

Peter reaches out and touches Neal, drifting a finger down the side of his face. "But if you would wait just a few more months. The tracker will be off, you'll be a free man and will have an infinity of choices. I hope –" Peter corrects himself, " _El and I_ hope that you'll choose us. We love you."

He swallows, the seconds tick by and Neal doesn't answer. _I've ruined everything._ He turns to go but a strong hand on his arm stops him.

"You can't offer me everything I've ever wanted and leave." 

Peter turns back. Neal's eyes are large, as blue as the morning sky. His mouth is grave and his breathing's shallow.

"Neal?"

This time, Neal touches him, his fingers as delicate as a butterfly on his jaw. Peter wants to kiss him again, but he knows how much even a single kiss can cost them, and he can't help but worry about the price. He takes Neal's hand and holds it against his cheek before stepping back, before letting go.

There's a promise there and Peter will tear down the heavens before breaking it.

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> Kanarek13's prompt was "Kiss Me" and Peter/Neal.


End file.
